


Hold Onto Me (I'm a Little Unsteady)

by Delirious_Comfort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I'm gonna give you every goddamn trope in the book, Let's be honest, Psychological Trauma, but you'll be happy about it, probably, so you're gonna cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious_Comfort/pseuds/Delirious_Comfort
Summary: When Kingsley Shacklebolt offers Hermione a position as the Guardian of the Hall of Prophecy, her life is once more turned upside down. Between learning to live with the traumatic events of the Second War and the new employee who is making her life a living hell, how long will it take for Hermione to completely fall apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently obsessed with Narcissa Malfoy and I started thinking about everything Hermione's been through. I know that girl is strong, but there's no way she came out of the Second War without any trace of trauma. So, I decided to write it.

“Ms. Granger,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, sitting down behind his desk. “I have a proposition for you.” Not even giving her a chance to speak up, he continued. “You have performed extraordinary work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures–”

Hermione sighed, interrupting the Minister. “I do wish you would honor my request for the name change of the department. It truly is quite a horrendous name. If you’d just–”

Kingsley held up a hand and smiled. “I will get to that in a second. As I said, you are solely responsible for great law changes and while I had initially intended to make you the Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement, a more urgent matter has arisen.” He was quiet for a moment as he seemed to be contemplating his next words. “I wish to offer you a position at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Minister, I–”

“Hermione, I would not ask this of you unless I was convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would be the only suitable person for this position.”

Hermione had great respect for Kingsley Shacklebolt. As far as Ministers went, he was on top of her list, but she grew quickly tired of not being allowed to finish her sentences.

“What exactly does this job entail?”

Kingsley was quiet for a moment and ran a hand over his bald head. “Well. As you know, during the battle at the Hall of Prophecy, all the prophecies were destroyed. As such, the original Guardian of the room was moved to a different department within the Ministry.

Frowning, Hermione cocked her head to the side. “I’ve never heard of anyone guarding the Hall of Prophecy before.”

Kingsley offered a small smile. “That’s because it was a highly classified position. One only the previous Minister and Headmaster Dumbledore were aware of.”

Hermione moved to the edge of her seat, eager to learn more.

“I cannot reveal who the previous Guardian was. However, I can tell you, should you accept, that I wish for you to become the new Guardian.”

“M-me?” Hermione stammered. “Prophecies aren’t exactly my forte, Minister. May I remind you that I dropped Divination at the first possible chance? I’m sure you understand I believe in logic. Prophecies are anything _but._ If Voldemort had interpreted Harry’s prophecy any differently, it would have been Neville Longbottom who would have caused his demise.”

“Agreed,” Kingsley said. “However, the Hall of Prophecy has been empty for the last five years. That is, it was empty until this morning. A new prophecy has presented itself and the hall of Prophecy restored itself to its former glory.”

“When you say, ‘restored itself to its former glory,’ what exactly do you mean by that?”

Kingsley stood up from behind his desk, groaned a little as he straightened his back and motioned for her to follow him. As they stepped through a door Hermione could’ve sworn wasn’t there before, he took her by the arm and apparated them to the Hall of Prophecy.

“Lumos.” He whispered the word almost delicately, as if the word spoken too loudly would disturb someone from their deep slumber.

“I don't believe it.” Hermione gasped. She took a step forward as soon as Kingsley let go of her arm. “This is impossible.”

The Hall of Prophecy looked as if Ginny Weasley had never unleashed the spell that caused every prophecy to smash to the ground. Rows and rows of empty shelves appeared to reach a height not even visible.

“Logic,” Kingsley began, “would dictate that the Hall of Prophecy should be completely empty." He took her by the arm once more and slowly ushered her forwards. “Logic is no longer applicable. You believe in logic, I believe in knowledge. My knowledge of this room gave no indication that the room could restore itself. My knowledge has left me completely baffled as to what’s happening in this room.”

They came to a halt and Hermione froze at the sight of a tiny orb that hovered on one of the shelves, as if it was still deciding where to lay itself to rest. There was no tag on the orb that indicated its origin or its intended owner. There was only the orb, a faint flow surrounding it.

“Touch it,” Kingsley said.

Hermione frowned and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. The man was impossible tall. “Minister, a prophecy not intended for me would destroy my mental well-being. Surely, you wish for me to keep my brain intact.”

Kingsley grinned. “While this is true, there is one expectation to that rule.”

“The Guardian,” Hermione whispered. “But, I haven’t accepted the position yet.” Looking back at the orb she released a long breath. “Merlin, who am I kidding?”

As her hand reached out to the orb, it started to gravitate towards her, until it planted itself on the outstretched palm of her hand. As soon as her skin contacted the orb, a faint blue light began to shine through the rows of shelves and Kingsley put his wand away.

“I believe,” he said. “The hall of Prophecy has accepted its new Guardian.”

“The orb,” Hermione said, her voice wavering. “It’s not revealing the prophecy?”

“As its Guardian, it’s up to you to discover the secrets of this place, Ms. Granger. Furthermore, I must ask a great sacrifice of you.”

Hermione knew exactly what he was going to ask of her. He had the same tone in his voice that Harry would describe as he recalled his private meetings with Dumbledore.

“I can’t tell anyone, can I?”

“Afraid not. As of this moment, only you and I are aware of the restoration of the Hall and under no circumstances can this change. As far as the other departments are concerned, the Hall of Prophecy is no longer an official chamber within the Department of Mysteries.”

“I will admit that I find it hard to accept that I have to keep such a secret from my friends. We’ve been through a lot, Minister.”

Kingsley nodded. “I am aware, and I wish I wouldn’t have to ask this of you. But as far as your friendship with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley goes, I would suggest giving the illusion that nothing has changed. To the best of their knowledge, you still work for the Department of Magical Creatures.”

Hermione beamed. “It’s official?”

“Indeed, it is. That being said. I _am_ looking for someone to help you. I suspect that as the Hall of Prophecy connects with you as its Guardian, it’s going to demand more and more of your time. I have my eyes on someone, and their status within the wizarding community would allow for you to keep up appearances as if nothing has changed. They will be given special privileges to apparate directly to the department.”

Completely overwhelmed, Hermione was at a loss of what to do or say. The idea that all this time the Hall of Prophecy had had a Guardian was so strange to her, she couldn’t fully grasp what Kingsley was telling her.

“What exactly do you expect me to do here? I will admit that I’m curious, but I’m not quite sure I understand what you would have me do.”

“I believe the Hall will make its work known to you, as you are now its Guardian. Not even I will know what happens in here. As soon as I leave the room, you are its sole safe-keeper.”

Hermione shook her head. “Why me, though? I don’t understand.”

“Let’s just say…I had an inkling. For now, that is all I can tell you.”

“More mysteries,” Hermione murmured.

Kingsley smiled at her. “Even the Minister has his secrets, Ms. Granger. I promise you that you are in the right place. The room has accepted you as its Guardian. It would not do that unless it believed you to be.”

“Who will you hire to help me?”

“That, too, will reveal itself in due time,” Kingsley said. “I can tell you this: for the time being, you will do your work from within the Department of Magical Creatures. You oversee both training your new employee, as well as being the Guardian to this chamber and whatever it has in store for you. With time, your new employee will take over your duties and you will solely focus on your guardianship.”

“Why won’t you tell me who it is?”

Kingsley heartedly laughed. “For one, I am not entirely sure I can convince them to take this position and two,” he paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I _am_ convinced you will absolutely not approve of them.” With that, he apparated away and left her behind.

Dumbfounded, she stared at the orb in her hand. “I guess it’s just you and me.” She sighed. “Now, what in the world am I supposed to do with you?”

The orb itself reminded her of a tiny, defenseless animal. It was nothing like the orbs that had previously habituated the ginormous room. Inside of it, a cloud of unknown material seemed to twirl, almost as if it was trying to find the right position before it could perform its duty.”

“You can do it,” Hermione said, holding her breath.

It was ridiculous, really. Talking to an orb. As if it could hear her. Still, the orb was working on something as it slowly rose up from the confinements of her palm.

_“Only…”_

She frowned. Not recognizing the voice at all, Hermione couldn’t even tell whether the voice was a woman or a man. If anything, it sounded like a child. And surely that one word couldn’t have been the entire prophecy?

“Again,” she said, a bit firmer this time. She bit her lower lip as she waited.

_“Only when the chosen one accepts the truth of myth, shall the banished one come forth and cause an age of temptation and kinship amidst a breakdown to end the suffering of enemies who shall be no more.”_

“Merlin’s beard.” She gasped as the orb returned to its former place on her palm, the object looked utterly exhausted, as far as objects could even look exhausted. “Ehm…well done?”

Never in her life did she feel as inadequate as she did in this moment. She was overcome with a need to protect the orb from any harm that could come to it, yet she didn’t have the faintest idea what she was supposed to do with it. Just then, another faint blue light lit up on one of the shelves to her right. Walking over to it, she saw a small three-headed dragon stand and placed the orb in the middle of the heads.

“Protect it well,” she whispered. As the three heads moved, she let out a small yelp. The heads knitted themselves around the orb, protecting it from all harm.

Running her hands through her bushy hair, she let out a long breath. Part of her still couldn’t believe that any of this was real. Perhaps any second now, Harry and Ron would make their presence known to her and laugh at her for falling for such an elaborate prank. Or perhaps she only wished that would be a plausible scenario, for being the actual Guardian of the Hall of Prophecy seemed like a task for which she was both severely unqualified and unworthy.

Still, there was a strong urge within her to protect this chamber at all costs. Even if she had no idea how to go about it. It had been so much easier travelling around with her best friends, trying to find the Horcruxes. _That_ had mostly come down to nothing but logic and if there was one thing that Hermione thrived on…it was logic. But this…this was something else entirely.

“Now what?”

She hoped the chamber would provide her with another clue as to what role she was supposed to fulfill. When nothing happened, she followed her gut and wanted to focus on something over which she had actual control.

Whilst Kingsley had apparated from his office into the chamber, she wasn’t quite sure if she had been granted the same privileges to apparate back to her own office. The last thing she wanted was to get splinched and having to explain how that had exactly happened.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her office and its decorum. Barely being able to breath, she could feel the ground disappear beneath her feet. Harry had told her once that apparition had felt like being forced through a very tight rubber tube and she couldn’t disagree. No matter how many times she performed the ritual, there was always the moment right after she had apparated to her desired location, where she wanted to puke her guts out.

It was no different this time and as soon as she felt the ground reappear beneath her feet, she opened her eyes and murmured a soft, ‘Accio chair,’ before letting herself fall on it.

_Hermione Granger, Guardian of the Hall of Prophecy._

Trying to sound it out in her mind, it still seemed surreal.

“It would make one hell of a business card title, though,” she said to the empty room.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of her day was not nearly as entertaining as her morning had been. Finding it hard to focus on her work, she was determined to banish and all thoughts of the Hall of Prophecy from her mind. Having to write a letter to the Headmaster of Hogwarts had helped her tremendously.

An elf by the name of Cinder had been working for more than the allowed eight hours, when she was injured in the kitchen. It had taken Hermione three days to convince Cinder that this wasn’t per the arrangement she had so carefully negotiated with Hogwarts. Despite the wizarding’s school great improvement, they still could do so much better and Hermione wouldn’t rest until the last elf was satisfied with their job and more importantly: until they were safe.

She tied the letter around her Ministry’s owl’s leg. “Find Headmaster McGonagall and try not to bite her this time.” She smiled as the owl flew off and closed the window behind her feathered friend.

Pacing through her office, she found it hard not to think of the prophecy. What did it all mean? Where did it come from and more importantly, who was it meant for? Her preliminary research had given exactly zero results. There was no information whatsoever on the Hall of Prophecy that was helpful to her in any way.

Just as she was about to march to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office, the door to her office flew open and an excited Harry practically came running in.

“’Mione!”

“Harry, to what do I owe this pleasure?” She couldn’t help but notice the look in his eyes that she had long learned to interpret as nothing but trouble. “Shouldn’t you be out with Ron, raiding some poor pureblood’s dungeon for illegal artifacts?”

Harry shrugged. “Probably, but I had something more important to do. Sit down, please.”

“I’d really rather not,” she said. “Out with it.” Her eyes grew wide as Harry dug deep in his pockets of his Ministry robes and pulled out a small box. “If you are going to propose to me, I’m afraid it’s a no from me.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Ron would hex me into oblivion,” Harry murmured.

Hermione flinched. Ron still hadn’t quite forgiven her for breaking up with him almost three years ago. It had been a decision that had caused her grievance for several weeks until she decided that it was time to break the news to him. Their relationship had been going nowhere and now that they were away from Hogwarts, it became more apparent each day that they were two entirely different people. Too different to maintain a healthy relationship, anyway.

“Ron needs to get out and get himself a new girlfriend,” Hermione said. “I hear Pansy is still available.”

“I doubt Mrs. Weasley would allow it.” Harry grinned and walked closer to her, popping the box open. “It’s not actually for you. What do you think, though? Think Ginny will appreciate it?”

“Oh, Harry,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “It’s beautiful. She will love it!”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” She shook her head and smiled. “I can’t believe you are actually going to propose! When will you?”

“Tonight,” he said. “I’ve been to Mr. Weasley and got his blessing and then some. We actually got into a two-hour discussion about muggle weddings, I think he was disappointed with my lack of knowledge in muggle marriages actually.”

“I'll send him some muggle literature,” Hermione said.

Even to this day, it was second nature to solve any problem that Harry, or Ron encountered. She was often annoyed with how long it took either of them to come up with a solution to a problem that could be so easily fixed, that she would just fix it for them. Saving her the trouble of having to hear about it endlessly. Her impatience had grown since the Second War and it was a trait she wasn’t proud of in the least.

“Thanks, I appreciate that. It’s been a long time coming, huh?”

Interrupted from her thoughts, Hermione nodded. Her heart was full of love for her best friend. He had been through such an ordeal after Voldemort had been defeated. For months on end he had sat through trials as a main witness for the crimes that purebloods had committed against the wizarding community. She knew it weighed heavy on his heart.

He had sat on her couch several times during that time, ranting and raving about how tired he was. How he wanted to leave it all behind him. But then there was Ginny. There was always Ginny. Ginny who loved Harry, who grounded him, gave him hope that all of it would come to an end one day and he could live the life he wanted to life. One where he was in charge, and not some lame prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

Hermione laughed and – Merlin – it felt _so_ good to laugh until her belly ached. “Harry, that woman is crazy about you. There’s nothing on earth that can stop her from marrying the man she loves.”

“Will you come ‘round for dinner tonight?”

“I thought you were proposing? Do you wish for me to be there and hold your hand?”

Harry stuck out his tongue and for a moment Hermione ached for that innocent gesture to mean that they were still in their first year of Hogwarts, before everything had changed for good. It wasn’t the first time she longed for the innocence of those first days, where her biggest worry was to get Harry and Ron to like her.

“Harry Potter,” she said, stabbing a finger against his chest. “Take Ginny to that Observatory Dining Room in London. Ever since she’s heard about it she’s been wanting to go. It’s a beautiful setting to propose to her.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione.” He regarded her with a curious look. “What’s going on with you, anyway? You’re pacing, it means trouble is on the horizon. Want to talk about it?”

Hermione hesitated. There was nothing she would love more than to talk to her best friend about the events that had unfolded that morning. Knowing she couldn’t, felt like the ultimate betrayal and she hated that.

“Kingsley is hiring a new employee. There’s too much paperwork for me to do it all by myself,” she said. It wasn’t a total lie. She couldn’t imagine it wasn’t okay for her to tell him that. With the amount of times he barged into her office, he would find out sooner or later.

“Who?”

Hermione shrugged. “He wouldn’t say. Though, he did say I wouldn’t approve it.”

Harry snickered. “Maybe it’s Pansy and you can start grooming her to date Ron. Merlin, can you even imagine? You and Pansy locked up in here eight hours a day?”

“Not a chance.” Hermione shook her head. “I’ll quit my job if it’s her.”

“Right,” he said. “Like you actually would.”

“Probably not, but there’s not one person on this earth who’d be worse to spend my time with. She will never set a foot in this office for as long as I live.”

 

* * *

 

 

She had been wrong. The smartest of witch of her age, and she had never been more wrong in her life. She wanted to beg Kingsley to hire Pansy instead, _anyone¸_ but the look on his face made it clear there was no arguing to be had.

“You can’t possible expect me to work with _her_ ,” Hermione spat out. She refused to look her new employee in the eye. Her outburst surprised both Kingsley and if she was honest with herself, it surprised her too. “She’s a traitor. I was tortured, and she did _nothing_.”

Taking deep breaths, Hermione forced herself to calm down. In the last five years, she was experiencing more and more panic attacks. They were triggered by the strangest things and as it turned out, Narcissa Malfoy was the biggest trigger of all.

“Ms. Granger, I profoundly apologize for the events that unfolded that night,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I was hoping we could put it in the past for the sake of us working together.”

Angrily, Hermione rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm. “Put in the past? Your sister carved _mudblood_ in my arm! How do you propose I put that in the past?” She swallowed thickly as she saw the woman visibly flinch. She still wasn’t convinced that Draco’s mother wouldn’t throw a hex her way whenever she got the chance. It didn’t matter how much Kingsley trusted her, as far as Hermione was concerned, Narcissa Malfoy was the scum of the earth. Even if she was the only reason that her best friend was still alive.

Mrs. Malfoy pointed to her arm. “I might be able to do something about that.”

Hermione scoffed and rolled her sleeve down. “Don’t even bother. The word is cursed, and the owner of that curse is dead. There’s nothing you can do.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Should you ever change my mind, all you have to do is ask.”

“Right,” Kingsley said, clapping his hands. He looked a little too eager to leave the tense atmosphere of her office. “I will leave you two to get more…acquainted. Try not to hex each other, please.” With that, a loud pop was heard, and he was gone.

Hermione shook her head. How on earth was she supposed to work with the woman who had allowed all those events to unfold? The only reason Mrs. Malfoy wasn’t currently in Azkaban was because she saved Harry’s life and had not participated in the Second War. Her husband had pleaded guilty to his crimes and was confined for life in a temporary prison while the Ministry searched for a replacement for Azkaban now that the dementors were gone. Lucius Malfoy was, for all intents and purposes, no longer a threat. His wife however, was a whole different story.

From the moment the witch had been cleared of all charges, something Harry had fought for with all his might, Mrs. Malfoy had become an acolyte to the wizarding community. Well, the pureblood side of that community, anyway. Not a day went by where her face wasn’t on the front of some wizarding magazine, bragging about her work for the community. Hermione had no idea what that work entailed. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Malfoy was an outcast. Though it was her sister that carved the word into her skin, she could not get the image out of her head that was it the blonde woman in front of her that had stood there and had done nothing to stop the monster as she carved away.

“Ms. Granger?”

“What,” Hermione sneered.

She hated this side of herself. Hated the anger that she felt, the outbursts she could no longer control. They didn’t come along often, but when they did, she missed the person she used to be. The Second War had changed the Golden Trio and while the other two seemed to cope with it just fine as the years went by, Hermione couldn’t cope at all.

Her days were spent at the Ministry and her nights were spent trashing around in bed, battling nightmare after nightmare. Most nights it was Lavender Brown’s pale face that haunted her in her dreams. Other nights it was Bellatrix carving the most offensive word on every inch of her skin, until she slowly bled out on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor.

She hated who she had become; robbed of her innocence by a monster, dubbed the Golden Girl after the war. If only people knew the truth. As far as Hermione was concerned, the ‘golden girl’ had died in that Second War.

“I understand that you’re hesitant–”

“I’m not hesitant. I am furious.”

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. “I understand that too. But, your Minister asked for my help and I gladly offer it. We will have to find some common ground if we’re going to be working together.”

Hermione laughed and even the sound of her laughter sends a chill down her spine. It no longer sounded like her. “Our common ground is your sister,” she said. “How do you propose we make that work, hm? Why even accept this position? Isn’t this beneath your…” Hermione waved her arms around. “I don’t know…your status?”

“And what exactly _is_ my status?”

This was the Narcissa Malfoy that Hermione recognized. The woman who had a bite in her voice. Not the woman was trying to make nice as if they were long lost friends.

“Aren’t you the wizarding world’s unsung hero? The pureblood who saved Harry Potter from his ultimate death? The woman who defied the Dark Lord himself?”

Hermione balled her hands into fists and squeezed as tight as she could, willing the tightness in her chest to go away. No matter what, she was not going to fall apart in front of this woman.

“What I did,” Mrs. Malfoy started, “I did for my family. You’re not a mother, so you couldn’t possibly understand. I did was I had to do to keep Draco safe. I lied to the most powerful–” Mrs. Malfoy stopped herself at Hermione’s furious glance. “I lied to the Dark Lord in order to survive.”

“And what of your status? Do you not have parties to attend?”

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. “You’re being foolish, Ms. Granger. I’m as much an outcast in this world as you are. Just because my face appears on fancy magazines, doesn’t mean that people treat me accordingly or that I even wish to be on those pages. People still go out of their way to avoid being seen in the same vicinity as me.”

“Is that all?”

“No,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “It’s not. There’s more, there always is. But as of right now, it’s not important. What is important is the job that the Minister offered me within this department. The job that I accepted and that I fully intent to carry out to the best of my abilities. We will have to find a way to work with each other.”

Hermione felt utterly defeated. Moving across the room, her shoes scuffed the floor with every step she took, until she let herself unceremoniously drop into her chair. Her body and mind were so incredibly tired, and she longed for the warmth of her bed. Finally, she looked up at Mrs. Malfoy and gestured for her to take a seat.

“What do you know of this department?”

“There are three divisions and you are in charge of those.”

Hermione nodded, taking over from Mrs. Malfoy. “Being, Beast and Spirit. One of my current projects is to establish two Liaison Offices. One for Goblins and one for Centaurs. We cannot hope to improve the relationships between us and them if it’s the wizards who oversee making the rules.”

“I take it the Goblin Liaison Office is different from the one that manages our economy?”

“For now,” Hermione said. “My hope is that we can eventually combine the two and make it into one office. But, we have a long road ahead of us before that can be established.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “But I was under the impression that Centaurs wanted nothing to do with the Ministry. Have they had a change of heart?”

“Not exactly. Therefore, it is one of my top priority cases. I would love for the ‘being sent to the Centaur Office’ to stop being used as a euphemism for being sacked.” She squinted her eyes and looked Mrs. Malfoy straight in her eyes. “Perhaps this is a project you could invest your time in. Would that be an issue?”

“Only time will tell.”

“You never did answer my question,” Hermione accused. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was that she accused the woman of.

“Which question?”

“Why accept the position?”

Hermione almost missed it. If she had looked away as she had intended to, she would have, but it was undoubtedly there on Mrs. Malfoy’s face, if only for a mere second. The faltering of a face before it restored itself to its stoic form. It was the first sign of emotion that Hermione had seen and had believed to be true. It was the first crack in the icy coldness that radiated from her.

Mrs. Malfoy seemed to be deep in thought and Hermione took that moment to study the woman in front of her. She had never understood the hair. It wasn’t black enough to fit in with that of her sisters and it wasn’t blonde enough to make her a counterpart of her husband and son. As far as her hair was concerned, Mrs. Malfoy didn’t belong to either side of the family. And her eyes, _god_. Hermione had never seen eyes that were as expressionless as Mrs. Malfoy’s. Everything about her radiated cold, from her appearance to her posture. It was all so very…stiff.

“Before I answer your question,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I want to make it perfectly clear that I did not nor have I ever agreed with Bellatrix’s actions on that night. What happened was tragic and I am truly sorry that you have had to endure it and are undoubtedly still dealing with subsequent consequences.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Dark magic comes at a price. It took my sister’s mind.” She leaned forward and hovered a hand near Hermione’s arm. “May I?”

Hermione swallowed but nodded.

Carefully, Mrs. Malfoy rolled up the sleeve and traced the word with a finger, never actually touching the skin it was engraved in. “I can feel the magic radiating from it. It’s a powerful curse. I can’t tell you what it is, though. What I can tell you is that the discomfort you feel is mostly fueled by this mark.”

“D-discomfort?”

“Hm, yes,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Nightmares, I suspect. Bella poured all her hatred into this one word, and that hatred is within you now, it flows through your blood. She gave you a curse you cannot control. I think in a way…” Mrs. Malfoy paused and looked up at her. “Well, in a way, my sister gave you a piece of her.”

Hermione snatched her arm away and angrily pulled the sleeve down. “Wonderful,” she said. “I’ve always wanted a psychopath roaming through my blood.”

Mrs. Malfoy flinched at the word and sat back up. “I can help you.”

“How?”

Shaking her head, Mrs. Malfoy didn’t immediately answer. “I need time. For research.”

“And my other question?”

“Right,” Mrs. Malfoy said, straightening her back and patting down what would otherwise have become a crease in her dress. “I won’t lie and pretend there’s not a part of me that hopes I can somewhat redeem myself for my actions that led to the Second War. You may not believe it, Ms. Granger, but I too carry demons.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. As far as she was concerned, her own demons came directly from the Malfoy and Black family. She couldn’t possibly imagine what demons Mrs. Malfoy carried around, and she would rather eat slugs than ask what demons the woman was referring to.

“More importantly, though,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Working at the Ministry gives me a chance to focus my energy on something useful. Despite what the magazines may have led you to believe, I’m confined to the manor most days and it’s…” Mrs. Malfoy’s voice trailed off.

Hermione didn’t need her to finish the sentence. She knew exactly how dreadful the loneliness was. Life after Hogwarts had been nothing like she envisioned all those years ago. When she was younger she had been enthusiastic, wanted to change the world, yet these days, when she came home after a long day, she just wanted to crawl in bed and forget the outside world even existed. Carefully choosing her words, she looked up at Mrs. Malfoy.

“I understand.”

Whether Mrs. Malfoy would understand as well, was not any of her concern.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad some of you seem to like this story, you have my sincere gratitude.

"I do wish you'd stop studying me, Ms. Granger."

Hermione quickly looked down at her papers, despising the flush that crept up her neck. Not wanting to apologize, she ignored Mrs. Malfoy's to the best of her abilities. It was hard, impossible even. As it turned out to be, Mrs. Malfoy was a hard worker, which wasn't surprising. What was surprising was little amount of work she herself seemed to produce.

"Alright. Enough," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Let's talk about this so that we may both focus on what we're actually here to do."

"Which is what?"

"Work."

_Ah_. Mrs. Malfoy had her there.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," Hermione said. It was a blatant lie. Of course, she knew. She had observed the woman for two weeks now with scolding glares and Mrs. Malfoy was anything but unobservant.

"Do...did, well, honestly..." Hermione stammered out. Another thing she struggled with lately; speaking coherent sentences in the presence of the older witch. "Did you know your son was the first person to call me a mudblood?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "I've been told. It's not something he's proud of."

Hermione scoffed. "He sure was when he was younger."

"Ah," Mrs. Malfoy said, leaning forward in her chair. "And therein lies the problem. My son was young and ignorant. Raised on beliefs that weren't necessarily his."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was aware of the beliefs within the Black and Malfoy family.

"Do muggle children not call each other hurtful names?" Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Hermione felt that flush in her cheeks now. "I understand that what my son said was an incredibly hurtful experience for you. However, now that you're older I would assume that you would be able to understand that words like that were fed to him daily."

"By you?"

"By his family." Mrs. Malfoy nearly spat the words out. She let out a long sigh. "So yes, while I don't recall ever referring to you as a mudblood myself, I'm sure he learned from his father and his aunt."

Hermione was at a loss for words. It was another side effect of the remnants of the Second War. Before the war she was able to convey her thoughts on the spot, argue with teachers about what she deemed appropriate and now she struggled with the simplest comeback. Every argument she could come up with seemed redundant, the war was no longer being fought and she grew tired of arguing about the same old topics. If nothing was going to change, why should she even bother?

"I'm not sure what you expect of me," she finally said. "I look at you and I see the woman who did _nothing_ while her sister tortured a child. I can't for the life of me imagine my mother standing idly by while an innocent person was being tortured."

"May I offer you a different perspective?"

Hermione nodded. They were only three hours into the work day and she was already so tired of it all, longing for the moment she could go home to curl up in bed and sleep her weary heart away.

"I won't pretend that I'm a victim in the story I'm about to tell you, but I hope you will be able to keep an open mind," Mrs. Malfoy said. She ran her hands through the hair that hung loosely over her shoulders and draped it all over the left side of her shoulder.

"When my husband told me, we would be using our manor as the base of operations for Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, I was terrified. Bellatrix was thrilled of course, there was no higher honor in her eyes. I cannot explain to you what it feels like to knowingly put your son in danger every day, and to have absolutely no control over that whatsoever."

Mrs. Malfoy wrapped her hands around the mug of tea sitting on her desk and continued. "Not long before the end Lord Voldemort seemed to be aware that his presence in our house was unwanted."

"Why didn't you ask him to leave?"

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. "Silly girl. Did you think we had any say in what he did or didn't do? If we had requested such a thing he would have killed us all. We did whatever we had to do to keep our son safe and that means we housed _him_."

Hermione furrowed her brows together. While Mrs. Malfoy words seemed sincere enough, it still didn't explain why she had let her sister torture her.

"I liked Luna Lovegood."

Hermione looked up in surprise at the change of topic.

"Luna was always kind, even though she was a prisoner. Merlin knows what she was talking about most of the time, but she made that situation bearable for everyone in that dungeon. She took care of Mr. Olivander and I'm convinced that without Ms. Lovegood's presence, he would have succumbed to the imprisonment."

Mrs. Malfoy sat up straight and looked Hermione straight in the eye. "Ms. Lovegood was an exceptional conversationalist. We spoke quite often, and she would speak of the names she used to be called. They didn't bother her, in fact I think she was quite proud of those names. Tell me, Ms. Granger... Have you ever referred to her as Looney Lovegood?"

Hermione cringed. She had...of course she had. It was how she had almost introduced Luna to Harry and Ron on Luna's first day at Hogwarts. "I–"

Mrs. Malfoy held up a hand. "I'm not judging you. I'm trying to explain that people use words that are hurtful to others. Luna is –by all means– a strange girl and Hogwarts students used that against her, much like my son used your blood against you. I'm not saying that those words are on equal footing, I know that they're not. However, both words were said with the same intention: to hurt the other person."

Hermione breathed in deeply. She didn't think she had ever tried to hurt Luna with that name, but it was hard to argue with Mrs. Malfoy's logic. Both mudblood and looney were words that weren't kind and if Luna hadn't been the kindred soul she was, she too would've been hurt by the implications of the word.

"Ms. Lovegood was the first person to tell me that she did not blame me for my sister's actions. I did not speak to her for three days. I could not understand how such an innocent and kind person could see past what unfolded right in front of her eyes. My family kept her captive and she made us feel better about it. It was one of the first times I realized that what we were doing was inherently wrong. We were all brainwashed, Bellatrix, Andromeda and me. As children, as young teenagers and as adults. We were raised on the belief that our blood was pure and that anyone with impure blood was unworthy. Andromeda was the first person to see that this wasn't true and took herself out of the equation."

Hermione was _oh so_ curious. "Have you spoken to your sister after the war?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "We reached out to one another soon after the Second War ended. Even though we missed out on so much in each other's lives, when we're together it's like we've never been apart. Not a day goes by where I don't regret never having met her daughter."

"When we were on the run," Hermione said, fidgeting with her hands, "I would have loved Tonk's company. She would have made dull days more fun and she would have kept up morale better than I ever could have." She wasn't sure why she offered up the confession, making Mrs. Malfoy feel better was the last thing on her agenda.

"I've been told she was a gifted metamorphmagus. Teddy seems to have inherited some of her qualities. I never quite know what hair color the boy will have during our dinner parties." A sad smile disappeared as soon as it made itself known. She looked up at Hermione and seemed to study her for what felt like an eternity.

"I will never excuse Bellatrix's behavior. I couldn't possibly. What she did was unforgiveable on so many different accounts. She took my niece out of this world and..." Mrs. Malfoy seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I knew he was there."

Hermione frowned. "Knew who was where?"

"Dobby," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Draco and I both knew, we saw him before Bellatrix could ever lay eyes on him. You were unconscious, and Bellatrix had her knife at your throat. The distraction he created saved your life, undoubtedly. If she had known," Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. "I do not wish to think about what would have happened if she'd seen him before any of us would have."

"None of that explains why you let her carve me like I was some piece of wood."

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Ms. Granger, if I would have spoken up, my sister would have slit your throat. I was her enemy as much as you were." She laughed, "Bellatrix was his last and best lieutenant, but his Bellatrix was not _my_ sister. My sister died in Azkaban, and the monster that came back was...I have no words for who that person was. Bellatrix was never _good_ , but her imprisonment in Azkaban took away the last bit of humanity she had in her. Just like Lord Voldemort, we were terrified of her. She was a bomb who had exploded the moment she escaped from Azkaban, who just...kept on exploding. She brought nothing but death and destruction."

Hermione cocked her head to the side and laughed, surprising them both. "Are you telling me I should be grateful that you didn't speak up? That you, what– saved my life?"

"No," Mrs. Malfoy said, her voice thick with anger. "Why is it so difficult for you to grasp the context of what I'm telling you? Bellatrix–"

"NO!" Hermione stood up from her chair and slammed her hands on the desk. She shook her head. "Enough. Just...just stop talking." A smile spread on her face and the moment it did, Hermione knew she lost all control over what she was about to say. It was a feeling she had twice before, once with Harry who had let her rant and rave before cradling her head onto his shoulder and the second time it had taking a sleep draught potion from Headmaster McGonagall to effectively render her speechless.

"Do you want to know what I see every night before I fall asleep? Lavender Brown's face, blood trickling down her chin. And every night before I fall asleep I wish I could have gotten to her two seconds earlier, because maybe those two seconds would have made a difference. Maybe, just maybe, if I had been quicker, faster, braver, Lavender wouldn't be in St. Mungo's, just sitting there, nothing more than a shell."

As the words poured out of her, she started pacing behind her desk. Finger pointing at the woman as she did.

"So, no, I don't grasp the context because I can't for the life of me imagine being so _okay_ with someone hurting people like that daily. If it wasn't for me, Lavender could have still been that _annoying brat_ she was at Hogwarts, but she isn't. I was too late, and so every night before I fall asleep? I pray, and I beg that I don't wake up in the morning."

An audible gasp made her look up and she shrugged her shoulders. "Don't you see, Mrs. Malfoy? I'm not mad that you didn't interfere because it would have been the proper thing to do. I'm mad that you didn't end my misery. You should've let your sister kill me. _That_ ," she spat out," would've been the proper thing to do."

* * *

 

Hermione wasn't quite sure how she had ended up in the Hall of Prophecies. One second, she had been yelling at Mrs. Malfoy of all people and the next everything went dark until she was surrounded by the faint blue light in the Hall. She had sunk down to the floor and cried until there were no more tears and screamed until her voice had given out. It was only when she looked up and saw an orb floating around that she got up from the floor and walked over to it.

"What are you," she croaked out. "More importantly, where did you come from, hm?" She held out her hand, but unlike the other orb, this one seemed more hesitant to move towards her. Frowning, she held her hand closer to the orb, giving it little room to go anywhere else _but_ her hand. She huffed when the orb moved an inch upwards.

"I see. You're a stubborn one. Well, I'll have you known I travelled with two of the most stubborn men I've ever met, and I got them on the straight and narrow, I can do the same to you."

Turning her back to the orb, she walked over to one of the shelves, where a stand had appeared. It wasn't nearly as impressive as the dragonhead's that held the first orb that presented itself to her, but it's silver still flickered brightly, as if it was desperately awaiting its permanent resident.

"It's a shame, you know," she said. She ran a finger along the curves of the circle. "It's here to protect you, like I am. So even if you think you're stubborn, I think you might just be a little bit scared."

Discreetly looking over her shoulder, she noticed the orb was now floating right behind her left shoulder.

"Let’s make a deal," she said. "You tell me your prophecy, and I will give you shelter for... well, all of eternity. Until some student breaks in here and destroys it all," she murmured.

She turned around and smiled genuinely. "What do you say, hm?" She held out her hand and waited patiently until the orb, finally, landed on her hand and immediately a voice thundered through the hall. It was loud and for a moment she was taken aback, the other orb had such a delicate voice while this one seemed to scream at her, eager to get its prophecy out of itself.

_"When the mark of one becomes the mark of many, a sudden death shall usher forth an era of honor."_

"Blimey, you're a cheerful one, aren't you?"

Carefully, she placed the orb within the circle. "Protect it well," she whispered, as the circle tightened around the orb. "You're safe now," she said, hoping the orb would understand what she was trying to convey. Perhaps in a way, she tried to convince herself of the same.

She was safe. Bellatrix could no longer hurt and while everyone had thanked her for saving Lavender's life, she couldn't help but feel like she deserved none of the praise. Every Sunday afternoon she would visit Lavender in St. Mungo's. The girl who had once annoyed the living daylights out of her was now a young woman who stared at nothing. Sometimes she would speak uncoherent words that no one understood. And occasionally, she would look at Hermione and smile. But, it was the sentence that she uttered every time that Hermione announced her leave that got to her every time.

"Thank you."

She couldn't bear to hear them anymore.

Inhaling sharply, she looked around the Hall of Prophecy. She frowned when on the wall to her left an empty frame had appeared. In all her research, she had never heard of any portraits hanging on the walls. Walking closer to it, she traced the frame with her finger and took several steps back when a purple robe entered the frame. Soon, the robe seemed to be attached to a body and she gasped when the face of none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore smiled at her.

"Ms. Granger, what a pleasant surprise."

Hermione's eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets. "P–professor? How?" She knew all the portraits of the previous Headmasters of Hogwarts were in the Headmaster's office, but this? This was unheard of.

"Help," he said, "will always be given to those who ask for it. I believe I've amended this statement to Harry in one of his dreams."

Hermione frowned. "You visit Harry in his dreams?"

"Quite often," he said. "The boy needs a lot of guidance. Or, he did. Lately the visits have lessened."

"Harry is getting married," she said, as if it would explain why he suddenly stopped dreaming about the previous Headmaster.

"Ah, very well. Pleasing news, indeed. Now, how can I be of assistance?"

"Uhm, I'm not sure. I didn't ask for help?"

"The Hall of Prophecies works in mysterious ways," he murmured. "No matter. It has found a great Guardian in you. I must say, even I couldn't have predicted this. Out of curiosity, how many new prophecies have presented themselves to you?"

"Two?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled, and Hermione's heart ached. She never quite understood the whole portraits and their living but oh-so-dead inhabitants.

"I believe that the Hall of Prophecy is currently much like a muggle nursery. The orbs will present themselves to you and as they do, they will grow in intensity and size. Of course, this could take years, but the prophecies will find you when they're ready to come home."

"Professor? Where do they come from? Who are they meant for?"

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said. "Excellent questions, certainly worth points, had we still been at Hogwarts. However, even I can't answer those questions for you. I can tell you though that most of these prophecies aren't nearly as important as the Prophecy for Harry and Voldemort was. Once those come to you, you will know who they are meant for and where they come from. You have to trust in the Hall and in return, it will trust in you." He looked at her over his glasses and winked. "Trust is a strange thing, Ms. Granger. It presents itself to us in the most unusual forms and all we can do... is have faith and trust that things will all work out."

"I have a billion questions, Professor."

"I'm sure you do. However, I feel it's time to return to my portrait in the Headmaster's Office. Minerva and I were playing a captivating game of wizard chess, which let me tell you, Minerva is an excellent player. Mister Ron Weasley could learn a thing or two from her, I believe." He stood up from whatever he sat on. "Trust, Ms. Granger. I put a great deal of trust in a wizard no one trusted and look where I ended up!" With that, the portrait was empty and displayed nothing but blackness.

Hermione was puzzled. Sure, Severus Snape had betrayed the Dark Lord like no other, and while Dumbledore had planned his death on his own terms, she still couldn't see how being dead had anything to do with trust. Then again, it wouldn't be the first strange thing that fell from Professor Dumbledore's lips. The man had always been...well, strange. Strong, courageous and incredibly powerful, but also so very, very strange.

It wasn't the only strange thing that was happening. She could feel the twitch in her body that meant she was about to apparate. Or rather, her body was going to apparate, she wasn't quite sure whether she was ready for it mentally. Having to face Mrs. Malfoy after her outburst scared her, she was sure the witch was going to use it against her, somehow. But, as it was, the Hall of Prophecy no longer had a need for her and as she closed her eyes, she gave in to the darkness, again.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a shorter chapter but I couldn't add to this one, so expect another chapter soonish!

When Hermione opened her eyes, she found herself in the same very spot that she had apparated from earlier. Her stomach was doing summer-saults and when she looked straight ahead, she saw the shocked face of Mrs. Malfoy staring at her. Not wanting to explain where she had just gone, she sat down in her chair and released a heavy breath.

"Hermione..."

Never in her life had she heard such a vulnerable voice call out her name. The way it was spoken, Hermione knew Mrs. Malfoy would have a million questions. She wanted to answer none of them.

"Ms. Granger, please. I had no idea you felt this way."

Hermione scoffed. "And why would you? You don't know me. At all," she said. "These days, no one does," she murmured softly. "Forget what I said, I didn't mean it."

"I think you did and it worries me greatly."

"There's no need. What I said, I said in anger. I'm over it now."

Mrs. Malfoy frowned. "You apparated away for a mere ten seconds and you're _over_ it? How does that work?"

This time it was Hermione's turn to frown. "Ten seconds?"

"I wasn't exactly counting, but yes, it couldn't have been much more."

_Strange_. And it was. As far as she was aware she had been gone for at least an hour. Was there some sort of time lock on the Hall of Prophecy? As intriguing as it was, she hated the fact that she always left the Hall with more unanswered questions than she entered with. For someone who craved knowledge as much as she did, it was quite disheartening to only end up with more questions after every visit.

"Are your friends aware of how much you're struggling?"

"Look," Hermione said, stealing a glance at the witch who still looked worried. "It was a moment of weakness and I shouldn't have said it. I'd rather we no longer discuss it. It is truly none of your business."

"Perhaps," Mrs. Malfoy muttered. "But what you said is out in the open now and you can't expect me to just ignore it. Knowing that you would rather have died at the hands of my sister..." Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. "That's not something I can just forget."

Hermione sighed and swung her chair around, trying to regain some of her composure. Everything was getting so complicated and it was the last thing she needed. All she wanted was to focus on her work and forget about the past, like it had forgotten about her.

"I will indulge you, for now. I do not wish to make a difficult day any more difficult for you. We _will_ revisit this topic later."

"Fine," Hermione spat out. She would just ignore it all over again if or when Mrs. Malfoy would bring it up.

Mrs. Malfoy stood up from behind her desk and grabbed the purse that stood on the edge of the desk. "If you'll excuse me, I need a minute."

Hermione didn't indulge her with an answer. She jumped when the door slammed shut behind the witch. Glancing at the clock, she sighed. She still had another two hours to go before she could take her lunch break, and then another five hours before she could make her way home. It was going to be a long day, she thought. Grabbing a pile of papers from her desk, she sorted through them absent-mindedly.

* * *

 

"Hermione?"

Startled, Hermione looked up and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Okay. One, that's no way to say hi to me and two where in the flying harpies were you with your thoughts? I've been trying to get your attention for like the last five minutes."

"Sorry Ginny," Hermione said, motioning for Ginny to take a seat. "Today doesn't seem to be my day."

Ginny leaned forward, elbow resting on her knee, chin resting in the palm of her hand. "What's wrong?"

Hermione had no idea where to start. _Everything_ was wrong, but that hardly seemed like an appropriate response. It would worry her friend unnecessarily and she didn't want that on her conscious. How could she possibly convey what was on her mind when half of her thoughts were not allowed to be spoken into existence?

"Just tired," she finally said.   

"Mmyeah, I don't believe that."

Hermione waved her off. "Promise." She shifted in her seat. "What made you drop by?"

Ginny bit her lip, clearly struggling to move past the subject as fast as Hermione was willing to. "I'll tell you when you tell me what's really bothering you."

She tried so very hard to choke back the sob but once she felt the first teardrop fall, she hid her face in her hands and let them freely fall.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Ginny said, walking over to her, crouched down and engulfed her in a tight hug. "Sshh," she cooed. "It's going to be okay."

"It's too...too much," Hermione cried. "I can't do it."

"Can't do what?"

"I am so...overwhelmed."

Ginny leaned back and wiped away the tears from Hermione's fall and offered a tiny smile. "Talk me through it. What's happening?"

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath. "I don't even know where to start. Half of it I can't tell you due to a pure need-to-know clause and the other half you won't understand."

"Try me," Ginny said, a bit firmer. "I've been with the boy-who-lived for a while now, I might understand more than you know."

"Does the war ever bother you, Ginny? I mean, do you feel anger? Hopelessness? It seems with every passing day, it just gets harder to breathe and I don't know how to make it go away."

Ginny frowned and stroked Hermione's knee with her thumb, a gesture she greatly appreciated. "In a way, yes. We've lost so many people, it's hard to fathom at times."

Hermione nodded. "W-when Bellatrix cursed me, Mrs. Malfoy said she left a piece of herself in me and it's like, ever since she's said that, I can't seem to shake the thought that Bellatrix is in me, ruining my life one day at a time."

"Woah," Ginny said. "Back up, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"She works here now," Hermione said, pointing to her desk. "Kingsley hired her as an extra help for the department. She does good work, I'll admit that, but I can't look at her without seeing the woman who let her sister torture me."

"That vile witch," Ginny sneered.

Hermione shook her head. "It's not like that. It's– I don't even know. She has tried to explain it to me and I can see that my anger is somewhat misdirected but–"

"Is it, though?"

"I don't know how to get past it. How am I supposed to work with her and pretend like none of it ever happened? How do I let go of all that anger and resentment towards her?"

Ginny released a long breath and ran a hand through her hair. "Have you talked to Harry about this?"

"No. You know what he'd say. She–"

"Saved his life," Ginny finished for her and Hermione nodded.

"That doesn't make everything else okay. I know he fought hard for her family to stay out of Azkaban, but if you ask me they all should've been incarcerated."

Ginny stood up and walked over to Mrs. Malfoy's desk. "Where is she, anyway?"

"We had an argument, she left."

"Typical."

"What am I gonna do, Ginny?"

Ginny knocked on Mrs. Malfoy's desk twice and looked up. "You're going out for lunch with me. Take the rest of the day off."

"Can't do that, there's so much–"

"Nonsense," Ginny said. "You need this. Your health comes first and by the sounds of it, you could do with a break."

"And then some," Hermione murmured, waving it off when Ginny regarded her with a curious look. "Let's go."

* * *

 

Lunch with Ginny had been exactly what Hermione had needed. Catching up with one of her best friends seemed to have lifted her spirits somewhat and she was glad to be back at work.

She had successfully dodged Mrs. Malfoy, despite them sharing an office. Every time the woman tried to strike up a conversation, Hermione dug herself deeper into her work until Mrs. Malfoy had murmured, "Suit yourself."

Frantically scribbling down notes on her scroll, Hermione barely noticed the knock on the door before it opened and the Minister walked in.

"Mrs. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, a moment please."

Frowning, Hermione looked up. She was quickly growing tired of people barging into her office and demanding up all her time. Meetings were invented for a reason; she wanted to go into meetings with a clear idea of what would be discussed, and these unannounced office intrusions achieved the exact opposite.

Kingsley paced the space between her own desk and that of Mrs. Malfoy. He cast a quick muffliato charm before speaking.

"A delicate matter has been brought to my attention. While I cannot tell you who my source is, I can guarantee the both of you that this information did not come from within this office. However, it does involve the two of you."

"What on earth is going on?" Mrs. Malfoy asked and for a mere second Hermione was thankful she didn't have to ask the question herself.

"At first, I was unsure of how to proceed. After all, the wizarding world is still coming to terms with all that has happened with Voldemort. However, I feel like I can't ignore this particular situation."

This time Hermione did chime in. "Minister?"

"Quite a situation indeed," Kingsley said. "I see no other choice but to take matters into my own hands."

"What situation?"

Hermione dared to steal a glance at Mrs. Malfoy who looked as clueless as she herself felt.

"I am sending the both of you to a retreat for five days. A sort of bonding experience if you will."

"WHAT?"

"Like hell you are!"

"Silence," Kingsley said, holding up a hand, rendering them both speechless. "I have appointed a mediator who I think will be most successful at resolving this tension between the two of you."

Hermione pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Surely all of this wasn't truly happening. A retreat with Mrs. Malfoy? One of them would end up dead before the end of the first day and she couldn't be sure it wouldn't be her.

" _We_ have to much work to do," Hermione said.

"Nonsense. Your work can wait. Your work _relationship_ however, can't. It is of the utmost importance that you two need to learn how to forgive each other. We are all on the same side now."

Hermione laughed, but quickly stopped when she noticed Mrs. Malfoy flinch. " _She_ needs to forgive _me_? For what? I have done absolutely nothing to her."

"That's for your mediator to explain, not me," Kingsley said. "This retreat is mandatory. I will personally see to it that Crookshanks will be properly fed and Narcissa, I have let your son know that you will be unavailable for the next week due to work."

"Wait," Hermione interjected. "We're leaving today? I am not ready! I have to pack and–"

"None of that will be necessary. Everything has been taken care off."

Hermione shook her head and turned her attention to Mrs. Malfoy. "Don't you have anything to say about this? You're fine with just being told you're about to spend five days with me?"

"I believe," Kingsley said. "Mrs. Malfoy is fully aware of just how dire this situation is. Am I correct?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "I can't say I appreciate it, but yes. I think I understand."

Hermione squinted her eyes, her gaze going from Mrs. Malfoy to Kingsley and back. _Oh god_. "You told him?!"

"I did no such thing."

"I told you it was none of your business!"

"Ms. Granger, please. While I understand your anger, I promise you I have not broken your trust and said anything to anyone."

"She's not wrong, Hermione," Kingsley said. "I don't know what situation the two of you are referring to. She is not the source of the information that's been fed to me." He motioned for both to come closer. "This pen is the portkey to the resort. Your mediator will be waiting for you. If you please," he said and motioned for them both to grab hold of the pen.

They simultaneously reached for the pen.

"That's just vile," Hermione uttered as the sensation of being pulled to another location consumed her.

"Agreed," Mrs. Malfoy said.

Hermione couldn't be sure whether Mrs. Malfoy had agreed before or after they went to their new location. But as the pen fell to the ground, they were at a new place.

"Good day Mrs. Malfoy, you are looking quite beautiful today."

Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Hello Hermione. Your head is just _full_ of wrackspurts."

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

"Luna," Hermione breathed out. "What are you doing here?"

"They are quite curious," Luna said." She chuckled and pointed to Hermione's clueless head. "Wrackspurts," she said, as if it would all suddenly makes sense.

"Right," Hermione said, frowning. _What on earth were wrackspurts again?_ She had read about them in the Quibbler once. But, like most of what was written in the magazine, she couldn't recall any of it.

Just then, another voice spoke up.

"Ms. Lovegood," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Would you mind showing us to our rooms?"

Luna nodded and motioned for them to follow her. "I tried my best but Minister Shacklebolt didn't give me much time to prepare. I think I've done quite well with assembling the scenery, but that didn't leave me with a lot of time to set up the house itself."

"Where exactly are we?"

"In the snow globe, of course."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Malfoy and Hermione exclaimed simultaneously.

"I suppose it's not really like a snow globe that a muggle would use. That would be silly. There is however every chance that we could be shrunk to miniature versions of ourselves, but I think I have successfully managed to keep the dracelio's out.

"Dracelio's?"

"Oh yes. Quite nasty creatures. Although I suppose they mean well. To them we must look like giants. It's only fair they would want to even the playing field."

"Obviously," Mrs. Malfoy mumbled, looking utterly confused.

"Have you ever tried to conjure a house from scratch, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I can't say I have, no."

"It's rather difficult. I did my best. There are two stories. Downstairs is all mine, so I won't have my head in the clouds all the time. At the back of the house is where we will have our sessions. Upstairs is all yours," she said, leading them up a staircase. "This is where the blubbering humdingers got in my way, unfortunately. They are quite entertaining to watch, but they distracted me too much. I only managed to conjure up one room before I ran out of magic."

Hermione frowned, raised her wand and aimed it at the door. "Alohomora."

Luna shook her head. "There is no magic. Under these circumstances we thought it would be for the best." She reached for the door handle, pushed it down and ushered them into the room.

"Absolutely not."

"No way."

Luna frowned. “I do–“

"Ms. Lovegood, I have indulged the Minister's game so far. But you can't expect me to share a bed with _her_."

It was said with such disdain, Hermione walked backwards until her back collided with a wall. _Deep breaths,_ she told herself as she tried to suppress the panic attack that was going to come through any minute now.

"No," Luna said cheerfully. "I don't. But the Minister certainly does. There are no other beds, so I'm afraid this is all we have to offer."

Hermione no longer knew what to say or do. All there was left was a knot in her stomach that slowly worked its way upwards, until it settled itself in her chest. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing on the tips of her fingers. When her breathing became labored she tried to reach out to Luna, but before she could, her vision blackened as she passed out.

* * *

 

"Are we sure this was the right thing to do?"

"We?" A voice calmly spoke. "There is no _we_. There is only me and if you ever dare to question me again, I will obliterate you, is that understood?"

"Yes, most humble Elvire," the man said as he dragged the heavy chair back and sat down on it. He didn't dare look at Elvire. Once, he had been a brave man. He had cast a glance at the face under the hood, only to be met by the mask of a raven. Green glowing eyes had met his and that was the last time he dared to look directly at Elvire.

Most days he wasn't even sure whether Elvire was entirely human. With their face hidden, their voice distorted, and their entire body hidden in cloaks there was little to give away whomever hid underneath it.

Still, he was a devoted servant. He had to be. Elvire had saved him and several others within the last second of their ultimate demise. They were forever doomed, their last heartbeat in stasis until Elvire decided to take it away. Death was coming, it always would, but no one knew when.

"Let us begin. Tell me about the mudblood."

* * *

 

"Hermione," a soft voice called out. "Are you with us?"

She groaned and reached up with her hand to her throbbing hand. Fingers wrapped themselves around her pulse and gently lowered her hand until it rested on the bed once more.

"Don't. You hit your head pretty hard when you collapsed."

"What happened," she croaked out. She hissed when a cold cloth was placed on her forehead and tried to reach up once more to take it away but was stopped from doing so.

 "Don't be stubborn," Mrs. Malfoy said. "You were hyperventilating and tried to reach out to Ms. Lovegood, instead you banged your head against the door knob before you fell."

"You sound amused."

"It was quite a sight."

"Where is Luna?"

"Getting us some supper. Chicken soup for you."

Hermione tried to peek through an eye but immediately closed it as the light nearly blinded her.

"Aspirin?"

"That too. And a glass of water to down it with."

She let out a long sigh and relaxed back into the bed. "Is this one mine?"

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about, Ms. Granger."

"The bed," she said with a sneer. She immediately regretted it. "The bed," she said again, softer this time. "Is it mine?" No answer came, and she tried to frown, which only intensified the pain in her head.

"Well. In a way, yes."

"Could we not do riddles, right now," she said. "My head hurts."

"It's ours."

She opened her eyes at that and cast a quick glance around the room before the pain became too intense. "You have got to be kidding me."

"If it helps, sharing a bed with someone who despises me isn't what I was looking forward to either when I started my day."

"Why are we here?" Hermione asked. "Shacklebolt said you would know why it was important. Why is it important?"

"We can talk about that another time," Mrs. Malfoy said.

The cloth was lifted, and Hermione immediately missed the cold that seemed to dull the pain, somewhat anyway. She reached up with her hand and whispered, "Please. Don't take it away. It helps."

"Alright," Mrs. Malfoy said.

"Thank you. Answer my question, please." Mrs. Malfoy released a long breath and shifted on the bed. It made Hermione incredibly nauseous. "Please stop moving."

"I fear I have not been as forthcoming as I should have been when I first looked at your scars."

Hermione rolled her eyes behind closed eyelids. _What a surprise_. Mrs. Malfoy who hid the truth? Wasn't that exactly how they had won the war? It only reaffirmed what she already knew. Narcissa Malfoy hadn't changed one bit.

"Dark magic," Mrs. Malfoy started. "So much of it is still unknown to us. But Bellatrix was an expert. Sometimes I think she knew more about the dark arts than Lord Voldemort himself. If she did, she never let on. To him she was a tool, a means to an end, and she happily played that role."

"I really don't need a history lesson on that psychopath of a sister of yours," Hermione spat out.

"But you do," Mrs. Malfoy said, anger seeping through her voice. "You want answers. So, for once in your life, listen to what I have to tell you."

"Fine," she mumbled.

"Bellatrix kept journals. Hundreds of them. Filled with curses, spells, ingredients for potions. After the battle of Hogwarts, I didn't dare look at them. When I first saw your arm and what was written on it, I recognized something from her journals. I fear that Minister Shacklebolt has come to the same conclusion as I have."

"Which is what?"

"I suspect that Bellatrix has h–"

A loud knock interrupted their conversation and a soft voice spoke out as the door opened.

"I have your supper," Luna said. "Chicken soup for Hermione. A salad for you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Ms. Lovegood, you can put it down on the table."

"Are you feeling any better, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. Bellatrix had done what? She needed to know, and she needed to know _now_.

"I'll see you both tomorrows, bright and early," Luna said before closing the door behind her.

"Bellatrix did what," Hermione said immediately.

"You need to eat first," Mrs. Malfoy said.

Determined to keep her eyes open for longer than a mere second, Hermione pushed herself higher up on the bed, until she was in a sitting position. Carefully, she opened one eye followed by the other until the light no longer overwhelmed her senses.

"Eat," Mrs. Malfoy said again. She stood up from the bed and placed the tray with food on the bed. "You'll feel better afterwards."

She wanted to argue, but as her stomach growled, she no longer had the energy to do so. Whatever Mrs. Malfoy was going to say, it could wait another ten minutes. They had all the time world, after all.

"Do you often hyperventilate," Mrs. Malfoy asked, as she stabbed a piece of lettuce onto her fork. She stood awkwardly by the bed, before deciding to sit down on the chair near the bed.

"It has happened once or twice ever since–" Hermione fell quiet.

It was a blatant lie. She hyperventilated at least once a week when her emotions got out of hand. Ignoring the question, she scooped up a spoonful of soup and brought it to her mouth. The warmth of it went straight down to her belly and she sighed contently.

"Nightmares," Mrs. Malfoy said suddenly.

"What?"

"I get nightmares."

"As you should. Your kind slaughtered people left and right. And for what? A half-baked man with a supremacy complex?"

Mrs. Malfoy laughed then, and Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Sorry," she said once her laughter had subsided. "Half-baked. It's the nose, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "More like absence off."

"He was always a most terrifying man. His supremacy aside, not one of his followers dared look at him for more than a second. He was vile, but just, so...half-baked."

Hermione grinned then but immediately let the smile falter. Were they really joking around about a man so horrible he had been ready to kill an innocent baby just to live forever? It didn't seem right. Still, Mrs. Malfoy seemed to have shared something personal with her, which was unexpected.

"I get them too," she said. "Nightmares. Every night. It's not just Lavender. It's everyone. Every life lost and for what? We won the war but, we lost. Friends, family–"

"Hope."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hope?"

"For the future. For a long time, I lost hope. Thought I had condemned my son to a life of imprisonment. As a mother, there is nothing more awful."

Hermione laughed then, but there was nothing kind about it. "Tell that Molly Weasley. Hell, tell that to your own sister."

"Sometimes there are fates worse than death," Mrs. Malfoy said quietly.

"I can't believe you actually believe that." Hermione shook her head and let her spoon sink into her bowl of soup. "I'm no longer hungry. I'm tired."

"Rest. I will wake you later."

"For what? I am perfectly capable to wake up on my own when morning comes."

"That's not–" Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "You might have a concussion."

"I suppose, that too, is a fate worse than death for you," Hermione bit back before sliding down the bed and rolling over. She couldn't believe the woman would believe that there was anything worse than being dead.

She thought of Tonks and Remus and their little boy who had lost both of his parents on the same dreadful night. She thought of Sirius and how Harry had lost the last link to his own parents. She thought of Lavender Brown who was neither dead nor living. When silent tears dripped down her face she gave into the sleep that claimed her.

* * *

 

She had no idea what time it was when a warm hand gently shook her awake.

"Hermione?"

"A little longer, mum."

A soft chuckle tickled her eardrums. "I am most definitely not your mother, Ms. Granger."

She sat up straight in an instant, the darkness not revealing anything to her. Turning around she could barely make out the silhouette next to her. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"The one and only. How is your head feeling?"

Laying back down, she rested her head on the pillow trying to recall what happened earlier. Had she hit her head? "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I think I hit my head."

"That's right. Do you know what day it is?"

"It hurts," Hermione said as she brought her hands to her head. "Is there any aspirin?"

"Open up," Mrs. Malfoy said as she placed a pill on Hermione's tongue and guided her hand towards the glass of water.

Sitting up a little, she downed the entire glass and winced at the aftertaste of the vile medicine. "I miss magic," she said as she laid back down. "Why is there no magic? I feel empty."

"It's still there," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Just suppressed. It'll only be a week. You'll survive."

"There's only one bed."

"There is. I'd offer to sleep on the sofa, but I have yet to find one."

Hermione shifted until she was on her stomach, her head firmly planted on the pillow. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see Mrs. Malfoy looking at her. There was something soft in her eyes, something Hermione had never seen before. Perhaps it was the look of a mother who saw a child in pain. She wouldn't know. As far as she was concerned she was never going to add another human being to the planet. It was rotten to its core and she wouldn't wish that life on anyone.

"What are your nightmares about," she whispered.

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes closed. "Draco. All those bodies, I cannot tell you what it was like to see all those bodies scattered around."

"I was there," Hermione said. "I remember."

"But you weren't wondering whether the next body would be that of your son. I gave life to him and I was terrified that I had taken it away."

"Perhaps in a way you did," Hermione said. She could see the wince on Mrs. Malfoy's face. It wasn't meant as an insult, just unadulterated truth.

"Perhaps. Get some sleep."

With that, the conversation was over and as Hermione closed her eyes she saw the faces of those they had lost during the battle. A near-quiet sob escaped her throat and she felt the bed dip. A warm hand rubbed soft circles on her back and Hermione was too far gone to realize it was the hand of the woman she despised that now soothed her most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I apologize. Depression is a shit mistress. Still, I hope you liked the chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ms. Lovegood better will have a good explanation for this," Mrs. Malfoy huffed as they made their way downstairs. "This is no suitable attire for a lady."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. Not too long ago she had awoken to fresh bagels and the sound of Mrs. Malfoy cursing when she had opened the wardrobe only to find several of the same outfits in different sizes for them both.

Which was why the both them were currently dressed in gray sweatpants and a hoodie. If Hermione was honest with herself, it was quite a sight to behold. It was obvious Mrs. Malfoy felt uncomfortable in the outfit. Every few seconds she would tug at a sleeve or try to smooth out a crease in her pants as she walked. It was amusing to observe. She herself didn't mind, it was comfortable and kept her warm.

"I'm sure she will," she finally said.

"Here goes nothing," Mrs. Malfoy said as she knocked on the door.

It opened instantly and a smiling Luna invited them both to sit down. The room was small, intimate even. It had a grand view of an ocean Hermione wasn't entirely sure was even there. Luna's explanation of the Snow Globe still baffled her and whether it was the possible concussion or not, nothing made much sense to her.

She sat down on the couch and groaned when Mrs. Malfoy sat down next to her, after having spent the night with her, she could use a little distance between them. She glanced sideways as Mrs. Malfoy crossed her legs and started smoothing out the creases in her pants to the best of her abilities.

Luna sat down opposite of them, tugged her feet underneath her legs and looked up with a warm smile. "Something on your mind, Mrs. Malfoy? The monephants surrounding you seem particularly restless today."

"The m-monephants?"

"Hm," Luna said. "I suppose you could say they're tiny creatures that indicate what mood someone is in. Hermione's are strangely lulling about, which makes me think she really does have a concussion. Are you okay to do this today, Hermione?"

She nodded, still wondering what on earth a monephant was and if they had any correlation to elephants. The idea of tiny elephants wearing even tinier monocles mucking about in her head made her giggle.

"Ms. Lovegood. The idea behind the outfits, please?"

"Right! Well, the Minister and I had a brief talk about this. We wanted the two of you to be on equal footing. Hence, no magic, although as you know there's another reason for that. The outfits were my ideas, aren't they comfortable, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I have not decided yet. This is not what makes me feel comfortable."

"Wouldn't you agree that Hermione is also uncomfortable - for entirely different reasons - and therefore it was only fair to level the playing field?"

Mrs. Malfoy just hummed and nodded. "I still would have appreciated a head's up. I could have had some of these outfits tailored. They're a horrible fit, truly."

"They're supposed to be baggy," Hermione interjected. "To make you comfortable."

"And yet here I am. Not being comfortable," Mrs. Malfoy sneered.

Hermione didn't want to get into an argument this early in the day. "Luna," she sighed. "Why are we here?"

"To talk. Heal."

"From what exactly?"

"The war. There's a more pressing matter, though. Mrs. Malfoy, would you care to explain?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded and turned towards Hermione. She was fidgeting with the hem of the sweatshirt. "Do you remember what I said to you last night?"

"Something about your sister and my scar."

Mrs. Malfoy hummed in agreement. "It's a bit of a long story and I'm not quite sure where to begin."

"At the beginning," Hermione said, a hint of anger in her voice.

"Of course," Mrs. Malfoy said. "But the beginning is hard to pin point. Like I said last night, Bellatrix kept journals. Once I saw your scar, I recognized something from her journals, old magic that goes so far beyond the realm of dark magic."

Hermione frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Mrs. Malfoy scraped her throat. "As you are aware, the Dark Lord turned to creating horcruxes. Pieces of his soul hidden in object as to make sure he would never die."

"That backfired, didn't it?" Hermione huffed.

Mrs. Malfoy didn't indulge her with an answer. "I'm afraid my sister has done something far more sinister, although I am unsure whether it was her intention to–"

"I'm sure whatever you sister has done," Hermione spat out the words. "It was fully intentional."

"No!" Mrs. Malfoy said loudly. "You have no idea what I'm talking about. For once just listen before you start judging."

"Fine," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

Mrs. Malfoy ran a hand through her hair, the usual half-updo strangely absent today. "Ms. Granger. Do you know what an obscurus is?"

Hermione shook her head. The word didn't ring a bell. Perhaps if her head wasn't such a disaster, but at this moment, she didn't have the faintest idea.

"In the olden days," Mrs. Malfoy started, "back when witches and wizards were still hunted by muggles, we had to teach our children to suppress their magic in order to escape the witch hunt. As a result, some of those children created an obscurus. In short, an obscurus is a manifestation of repressed energy of a magical child."

Hermione leaned forward, eager to learn more. How was it possible that she knew nothing about this? It certainly was never taught at Hogwarts, but if it was such an enormous part of the wizarding history, why had she never come across it in any of the books she had read?

"In a manner of speaking, the obscurus is a magical parasite," Mrs. Malfoy explained. "It's unstable and uncontrollable. It has been documented as a dark force that busts out of a child and attacks everything in its path before vanishing again."

"What happens to the child?"

"These children were called obscuricals. When the obscurus is released, it's because the obscurical has lost control because they've reached their emotional and mental breaking point. Most children died before the age of ten and at that point the obscurus would disappear."

"I–I don't understand," Hermione stammered.

"It's as I said...it's hard to explain. I believe that while my sister... tortured you, she tried to suppress your magic to the point she has created an obscurus which is fuelled in part by your emotions and in part by my sister's curse she placed on your scar. It's magic unlike anything I have ever heard of. It shouldn't be possible and yet it's the only thing that makes sense."

Mrs. Malfoy shifted on the couch and looked at Luna who motioned for her to continue. Hermione's fingers twirled the fabric of the edge of sleeve as her frustrations grew. Did everyone know about this except for her? Why had they waited to tell her until she was in some non-magical bubble? 

"Minister Shacklebolt came to me and informed that Professor Dumbledore has contacted him through his portrait and informed him of his suspicions. I can only imagine it's why the Minister has sent us here and it's why our... snow globe... has no magic. In case... well, in case you blow."

She looked at Luna who nodded as confirmation to continue.

"An obscurus is developed under very specific conditions, Ms. Granger. Trauma associated with the use of magic, internalised hatred of one's own magic and conscious attempt to supress it. In this case, it was Bellatrix's hatred for your magic that has created the obscurus."

Hermione stared at her with an open mouth, trying to process the words that Mrs. Malfoy had just uttered. Except, nothing made sense. Bellatrix Lestrange had created a magical parasite to do what exactly? Destroy her from the inside out long after she was gone? Had she hoped the obscurus would have come out during the battle of Hogwarts? Was it supposed to destroy Harry and every person she loved?

"Dumbledore," Hermione said finally. "How would he know?"

"His sister," Luna said. "It was largely believed his sister was a squib. Professor Dumbledore knows that wasn't true. Ariana was attacked by muggle children after they saw her practising magic. When she was fourteen, she caused a magical explosion that killed her mother. When she died it was because she was accidentally struck in a duel. If Ariana was truly an obscurical, she lasted longer than the average child, though."

"How can you two speak of children as if they're just casual casualties of this... of this parasite? Do you not care?" Hermione stood up from the couch and started pacing in front of it. "Innocent children died and you're telling me that it's okay because Ariana lasted longer than expected?"

"No one said it was okay for these children to die, Ms. Granger. It was an absolute tragedy that this even had to happen."

Hermione scoffed. "I'm sure you're happy there's something you can blame the muggles for. Is this what fuelled the mudblood hatred? Is that why you hate me? Is my kind responsible for the destruction of someone in your own family?"

"Hermione," Luna said. "No one is here to point fingers one way or another. We're here because we're worried about you. This obscurus may be dormant now but we have no idea for how long or what's going to happen to you the moment it busts out of you. We're here to help you through your anger."

"By putting me in a magicless bubble? Which suppressed my magic? What if I blow it up and you're just helping it speed along?"

"We're not actually suppressing it, though," Luna said. "It's still there, you just can't access it. Not any of us can."

"Sounds a lot like suppressing to me," Hermione murmured. "God," she said, looking straight at Mrs. Malfoy. "Your sister really hated me, didn't she? It wasn't enough to just give me a scar, no... She had to create the one thing that would destroy me from the inside out? What did I ever do to her!"

She hadn't meant to go off at Mrs. Malfoy, but _god_ it was so easy. If it wasn't for the Black family, who knows how the war might have turned out? It was easy enough to give Mrs. Malfoy credit for lying to Voldemort, but if it wasn't for Bellatrix being the loyal follower she was, how powerful would he have gotten?

"There's one more thing," Mrs. Malfoy said. "And I apologize in advance for bringing up such a sensitive topic because I'm well aware it's not my place."

Hermione stopped pacing then. She knew exactly what Mrs. Malfoy was talking about. "That's unrelated. And not your place."

"Then you tell me, Hermione."

She whipped her head towards Luna, almost having forgotten she was still in the room. Running her hands through her hair, she shook it.

"No. It's unrelated. It was a comment that I didn't even mean."

"I'd rather hear it from you, though."

"So, what? Either I tell you or you're going to make Mrs. Malfoy tell you? What is even happening here? You can't just whisk me away from work, stuff me in some Snow Globe and tell me I have this... this _thing_ in me that's about to blow if what... If I get too upset? Is that it?"

"We're unsure," Luna said. She turned to Mrs. Malfoy. "May we call you Narcissa?" At the woman's nod, she continued. "The Minister is conducting his own research, but we all agreed that for now it would be best to take you to a place where we could work on your anger issues."

"I do NOT have anger issues!"

"That outburst tells me otherwise. You may think I'm silly, Hermione, but you can't deny that I can see things that other people can't. Make fun of it all you want, but I haven't been wrong. It's how I found Harry on the train under his cloak that night and it's how I know that you are, indeed, very angry. At the world but more importantly, with yourself."

"Can you blame me? We were pawns in a war, Luna."

"I don't blame you at all. In a way we're all angry, but you have something inside of you that feeds of it and I don't want to see you perish as a result of it."

"Is it curable?"

"Unknown," Narcissa said. "Bellatrix's journals don't say anything about children surviving with the obscurus intact. From my preliminary research I've found there was one case of an obscurus that was kept alive by encasing it in a magical field."

"And the child?"

"Dead."

"Wonderful," Hermione said faux-cheerfully. "You can save the parasite but not me. That's just wonderful."

"Just because it hasn't happened before, doesn't mean you cannot be saved. We need to work closely with the Minister. But in order to do that, you need to talk about what you're feeling."

Hermione scoffed. "Then why are you here, _Narcissa_? To provide emotional support? Rub my back when I can't breathe? Like a parent?"

"It seemed to work for you last night, so yes," Mrs. Malfoy said calmly. "If that's what you need, I'll be your emotional support. But," she said, looking down at her pants as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. "I suspect a lot of your anger is in direct relation to my family. I'm hoping, if you will let me, that I can help take some of that away."

"By what," Hermione said. "Telling me poor Bellatrix's sob story?"

"Do NOT speak about my sister that way!"

"She _tortured_ me and laughed about it," Hermione said angrily. "I will speak about her in any way I see fit."

"We're getting side-tracked here," Luna interjected. "Hermione, please sit down. I don't care if it's on the floor if you need space, but you will sit down."

Hermione held up her hands and sighed as she collapsed into a sitting position, her legs folded. "Fine. I'm sitting."

"Thank you," Luna said, breathing deeply. "Now. I believe there was something you were going to tell me?"

Hermione shook her head. Neither Luna or Mrs– no,  _Narcissa_ had no right to make her say those words out loud again. She hadn't meant them the first time. Not exactly. They had just escaped her mouth in anger. A statement to hurt Narcissa as much as her sister had hurt her.

"I'll be honest," she said finally, carefully picking at the carpet beneath her feet. "I am not comfortable. You've just told me I have a parasite in me that apparently wants me dead so it can be free and–" she groaned. "This is absolutely mental! How do you not see that?"

"It's a lot to take in," Narcissa said. "But and I'm sure your friends would agree, you have already lost so much in the war, now is the time to heal."

Hermione shook her head. "That doesn't happen overnight. It's not happened for the last five years, what makes you think it will happen now?"

"Because," Narcissa spoke softly. "I suspect you have never actually told anyone how much you are hurting, Hermione."

Hermione dared not look up, all too aware of the tears forming in her eyes. It was true, wasn't it? She and Harry had spoken at great length about the war and all it had cost them, but she had not once told him how much she was still hurting. How angry she felt that they were children and yet were expected to fight this war as if they were adults. How Lavender Brown hunted her in her nightmares.

She didn't want to bother Harry with it, he was still battling his own demons. And Ron–god Ron. Ron lost his brother and was never quite the same afterward, which she completely understood. Loss changed people and all of them had changed the moment the war had come to an end.

Ron focused on work, Harry divided his time between work and Ginny and she herself? She breathed and lived for work. She drowned herself in paperwork and meetings to make small changes happen that hardly anyone cared about.

"Maybe you are right," she said softly. "I don't talk about it."

"Then change that now," Luna said. "Talk to us."

"I don't know how."

A soft scraping of a throat made her look up at Narcissa. Were those eyes glistening with tears? Surely not. Still, there was something there. Perhaps she just suffered from Muggle allergies. It wouldn't surprise her. She hadn't seen the woman shed a single tear, not even for Draco.

"As much as you would like to believe otherwise," Narcissa began. "I don't talk to anyone either. My husband wouldn't understand and my son... I wouldn't want to put him through any more hurt than I already have. And–" Narcissa was quiet for a moment. "As much as your hatred for Bellatrix is validated, she was still my sister."

Hermione stared as Narcissa frowned at her own words.

"Bellatrix wasn't always as lost as she was during her last years. At some point she was just a child, being fed propaganda by her parents and with a strong desire to protect her sisters from the hardship she experienced. That is the sister I choose to mourn. Not the one that hurt you."

"Would you tell us of a fond memory of your sister," Luna asked.

"I-I don't know if I'm ready to hear this," Hermione murmured.

"We can only heal if we speak about our experiences," Luna said. "I'm not asking you to forgive Bellatrix or the Black family. I'm merely asking you to listen."

Hermione nodded. She could do that. For now.

 


End file.
